


Blueberry

by Mouse9



Series: Don't Complicate It [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Friends With Benefits, Mild Kink, ex relationship, mention of Greg Lestrade - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:28:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22672570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse9/pseuds/Mouse9
Summary: With the inevitable end of her time with Greg Lestrade, Irene needs something else.An escape.That escape comes in the form of a former lover.But the memory of Greg can't seem to let her go.
Relationships: Irene Adler/ OC
Series: Don't Complicate It [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1301933
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Blueberry

“Blueberry.”

The word was unexpected, rasped out breathless under a writhing body, hips arched, knee bent and spread. 

Irene stopped at once, blood-red nails retracting from pale white skin, because that’s what one does when a safe word is spoken. The fact that it had been spoken at all had been enough to pull Irene from the trancelike state she’d fallen into while marking red lines on Stella’s dove white skin.

She was at once concerned. 

“What is it? Are you well?”

A moment passes, Stella controlling both breathing and arousal before her  tree green eyes opened and focused on the woman above her. 

“I demand parlay.” she insisted, still breathless, but those green eyes shone with a determination. Silently, Irene acquiesced, reaching for the restraints with unmarked gentleness-

**-Three hours earlier-**

The weather was miserable, matching Irene’s mood. It’d been a week since she stormed from Greg’s flat, too many words said and even more unsaid. 

In hindsight,as much as she hated to admit it, yes, she could see where Greg was working for her wellbeing, however, she didn’t claw and scratch and manipulate her way to where she was to be once again outmaneuvered by a man.

Sherlock Holmes was bad enough, even though-she could admit to it now- she’d gotten sloppy, too cocky. And it had almost cost her. It was her supreme luck that she had made just enough of an emotional connection with the enthralled detective that he'd rescued her, sending their win counter back to an even one-all. 

Gregory Lestrade, her sweet, adorable, clueless man, would not use sentiment to best her. She didn’t care how good a fuck he was. 

That didn’t stop her from almost texting him three times. Never sent. 

Afternoon of the seventh day found her mobile in her hand once more, words on the screen. 

**Let’s have dinner.**

She needed a deterrent. A change of scenery. Something to clear her mind, regain her focus. She would not pine. 

Deleting the text, she opened a new screen. 

**Dessert?**

A response came to her phone a few minutes later.

**I’ve been positively aching for something decadent. When?**

Irene smiled. Stella was just the change of scenery needed. 

**Tonight. 7pm.**

**I’ll leave the door unlocked. X**

* * *

Promptly at seven, Irene stepped through the unlocked door of Stella  Norwoods ’ luxury flat, spotting her ex girlfriend/ sometimes lover sitting on the couch, clad in black lace underwear, head bent, hands clasped together in her lap. 

Irene  smiled, made a show of locking the door, hanging up her coat and storing her bag. 

“My, my, don’t you look delicious tonight,” she purred, heels methodically clicking on the hardwood floor as she approached. 

Stella squirmed on the couch with anticipation, something Irene, will her well trained gaze, noticed. 

“Such an eager little thing too. Tell me,” she continued, stopping before the woman, “How long have you been sitting here?  Waiting ?”

“Thirty minutes,” Came the prompt reply. Without title. Which told Irene everything she needed to know. She lifted Stella’s chin, so the woman had to look up and into her eyes. 

In those green eyes, Irene saw everything she needed. 

“Oh my  sweetling ,” Irene cooed, taking a seat on the couch beside her, short leather skirt tight against her thighs.  Reaching out, she stroked Stella’s hair. “You need a softer release, don’t you?”

_ Just like me _ , she thought distracted.

The auburn-haired woman nodded, her body shifting towards Irene, begging. Already she could feel the tension from the last week melting like snow-focus only on Stella and her needs. She had purpose, focus, and she intended to hold on to it. 

“I’ll take care of you sweetling,” Her hand slid down bare skin and black lace, taking in tactile sensations. “But first, on my lap darling, over my knee.”

Almost eager, Stella maneuvered on the couch, spreading over Irene’s lap face down, hips pressing against the curve of her thighs. 

Irene took in the vision; snow pale skin in a black lace bra and knickers. Wide hips and thick thighs trembled under her hand as she stroked downward. 

Stella had been told she wasn’t ideal, wasn’t what anyone wanted but the moment they’d met, Irene was enamoured. She didn’t see a stomach that stuck out or inner thighs that rubbed together, she saw flesh that could be manipulated for pleasure, that held the red marks of a hand or a crop. A woman who begged so prettily for punishment, hard or soft. Stella was giving, affectionate, loving and when they had parted under friendly terms, she had confidence. The times they had come back together, Stella has always responded exactly the way Irene expected. 

As she did now. Irene’s hand landed hard against the fleshy globe and Stella gasped, hips wriggling. 

Another firm slap on the other cheek, already the skin was pinking up. 

“Stop squirming.” She tried to be harsh, but the words came out amused instead. “One would think you were eager for your punishment.”

Another slap. “You know why you’re being punished, don’t you?”

_ Slap _

“I spotted you, you naughty girl.”

_ Slap _

“ Wiggling on the couch wanton.”

_ Slap. _

“ Antagonizing me.”

_ Slap.  _

Teasing . ”

_ Slap _ .

The skin was red now, indelible marks over smooth skin. Stella’s sobs contradicted the eager rise of her hips as if to meet Irene’s hand. Another slap, fingers lingering on warm flesh. She traced the seam of the knickers down to the sodden cotton between partially spread legs. 

Stella gave another muffled sob, thighs spreading further in invitation. With a knowing smile, Irene pressed against wet cotton and Stella’s hips arched upward beseechingly. 

“Why didn’t you text me,  sweetling ?” Irene murmured, stroking the seam of the knickers to push  the aside. 

“Rules,” Stella gasped aloud as fingers slid inside her, spreading her, curling, then sliding out. "You text first. ”

Unhooking the back of the bra presented to her, Irene kept up the slow pumping of fingers, thumb brushing against Stella’s clit. 

“You left yourself too long, sweet.” She insisted on watching for the tell. 

_ It was always easy for pale skinned people _ . Irene thought as she stroked and flicked and curled, watching Stella respond exactly as she wanted. Their skin flushed, the blood rushing to the surface. It was why it was hard to tell with Greg. His tanned skin didn’t flush, his tells were different, almost hidden, and she had to pay attention while they were playing their games lest they overwhelm her. 

Stella cried out and Irene snapped back to the present as Stella came undone. She hadn’t been paying attention, hadn’t pulled away at the very brink, withheld orgasm, leaving her needy, desperate and aching. Instead, she had to work her through, pulling away only when Stella fell limp and spent against her lap. 

The couch and her skirt would have to be cleaned, but that was nothing compared to having to start over to give her dearest what she craved. 

“That was unexpected,” Stella’s voice was dreamy. 

Frustrated with herself, Irene gave a final slap, causing the woman to yelp.

“I took mercy on you. Now,” Another pat, lighter this time, on the small of her back. With unsteady movements, Stella climbed from Irene’s lap and stood, bra loosened and half off one shoulder. Irene stood, a smile soft on her lips. 

“Remove that. Knickers too, they’re ruined.”

Stella let the bra fall to the floor, then bent to slip off the ruined knickers. She stood for presentation, naked in Irene’s still clothed presence.

“The silks?” Irene asked. Stella’s face brightened. 

“Please?”

* * *

There was a place for the cold hard steel of metal handcuffs against a bedpost, but in this room, with this woman, it was only soft red silks, straps that didn’t bruise wrists yet held tight. 

The red contrasted with pale skin, pulling out the color of flushed chest as Stella whimpered and writhed under Irene’s expert hands.

Her breasts were pink from firm handling and squeezing, dark circles freckling the flesh, the effect of bites and skin being sucked into a mouth. Once pink nipples now red and plump as Irene pulled and twisted. Her sweetling loved pain in nipple stimulation. Irene considered retrieving the clamps but dismissed it, wanting the hands on approach today. 

Leaning forward, Irene sampled Stella’s open mouth dragging her lover’s lip out with her teeth before delving in. After  taste of whisky and caramel brought memories of Greg once more and she delved deeper, lost in the taste, the memories of another kiss, more frantic and tactile, the scratching  of late evening scruff that left her chin red afterwards. 

A muffled sound,not masculine broke through memories and Irene pulled away blinking. Green, not brown, eyes looked up at her. Irene smiled but said nothing, instead pressing her thumb against kiss-swollen lips in a silent order to suck. 

She couldn’t help the smle when Stella’s tongue slid out to lick her thumb, slicking it before pulling it into her mouth. 

“You’re being cheeky,” Irene admonished, pushing her thumb in further. “Cheeky girls get punished with the stimulator.”

Stella trembled as Irene removed her thumb yet stayed silent, watching with wide excited eyes as  Ireme slid from the bed. Her skirt was hiked up to her waist so she removed it and her blouse, leaving on only the demi corset and matching knickers. 

Picking up a wand that looked like a back massager, Irene climbed back onto the bed kneeling in between legs spread open. 

A professional eye turned on to the beautiful naked body below her, damp with sweat, read from bites and slaps, trembling from strain and arousal. Turning on the device and watching Stella’s body twitch in anticipation, Irene slid the still damn thumb over the hooded clit, flicking with her nail, giving just an edge of pain.

“Cheeky girls get brought to the breaking point over and over until they’re sobbing and begging for release, just the way I like.”

She positioned the pulsing device in just the right spot that gave the most intense sensations.

Stella howled, hips arching upward so fast that Irene had to hook her ankled against Stella’s legs and dug nails down her hip bone to hold her steady. Her body shook, wrists tugging against silken cords holding her tight. 

She was the portrait of rapturous anguish. 

*Christ! Baby doll, please…*

She’d had him under her mercy once. Shackled to the headboard, she’d taken her time, watching the signs and marveling at how different his tells were and how long he could withstand her little tortures. She would have loved to have him under her crop and watch his reactions. 

Her hand wrapped against his cock stroking excruciatingly slow when he’d finally broken and begged. She’d ended up riding him hard and fast to completion, him bucking under her. 

There had been memorable nights with him, but that night had been a favorite.

“Blueberry.”

The word was unexpected, rasped out breathless-

* * *

Toys, turned off and put aside, silk straps loosened, releasing wrists. 

Stella sat in the bed, knees bent up under her chin across from a worried Irene.

“Did I  go too far ?” she asked, worry evident in her voice. In all of their time together, Stella had never safe worded out of sex games much less parlayed to stop everything. 

“I’m okay.No everything you were doing was perfect. Exactly what I had been craving.”

Irene frowned. “Then wh-”

Reaching forward Stella placed a  hand on Irene’s  laeg , green eyes intent on her face. 

“You weren’t enjoying yourself. For the first time since I’ve met you, you were not  in the moment .” Stella blinked, then pulled back. “There’s something on your mind, distracting you. I can’t enjoy myself if you aren’t enjoying yourself.”

Guilt flared in Irene’s chest. Stella was right, she hadn't been attending her thoughts miles away and on someone not Stella, and wholly undeserving of her attention. 

“You’re right and it was inexcusable of me,  sweetling .”

She reached out, intending to stroke her leg but her hand was caught and pulled to Stella’s mouth. The kiss was so gentle that it brought a lump to Irene’s throat. 

“I’ll make tea and we can talk.” Stella staid. Irene frowned, both at the offer of tea and conversation and the fact that Stella was stopping a session to dress and make tea.

“Stella, sweet,  what about-”

“This isn’t about me Irene.” Stella interrupted as she slid from the bed and picked up an oversized tee shirt. “Not anymore.”

The shirt was tugged down, and she held out a hand.

“Come on, let’s move to the kitchen.”

* * *

It was unusual, two women sitting at a table in the kitchen only clad in a bra and knickers, the other in a tee shirt, having tea. But unusual was what Irene specialized in. 

Stella reached over and picked up a chocolate drizzled biscuit and broke it in half. 

“Where were you?” she asked before taking a dainty bite. “Just the... What were you thinking of?”

Irene flushed. She despised discussing herself with anyone.  Telling your lover you were thinking of another was always bad form. As if reading her mind, Stella spoke. 

“Who was she?”

Irene flinched. "Not she.” she begrudgingly admitted. Stella blinked. 

“I forget, sometimes, that you sometimes take male lovers outside your job. Men always come with an extra amount of work that women don’t seem too.”

She bit off another piece of the biscuit as Irene sipped at her tea, mind running. 

She’d had quite enough of people reading her mind. Any other time, she would lash out, could feel the urge to do so rise in her chest. Stella didn’t deserve that. Didn’t deserve the vitriol and biting sarcasm she could let loose. She was trying to help, wanted to help. Truth be told, had Irene kept her focus, they would already be moving towards mind blowing orgasms and the enjoyment of watching her dearest Stella shatter apart at her touch. 

She took another drink. 

“No, they do not.”

“Did he get too close?” Stella brushed the crumbs from her fingers. “He cared, didn’t he?”

This time Irene couldn't hold back. “I’ll thank you to stop  deducing me.” 

Stella didn’t flinch, but her eyes widened with shock. 

"You aren’t seeing that boffin detective again, are you? ”

The surprise in Stella’s voice broke a laugh from Irene, sharp and desperate. 

“No  sweetling , not Holmes. But... another detective.”

“Irene, are you developing a type?”

This time the wide eyes gaze was intentional and Irene smiled at the jest. 

“No. They are two different people. Soft edges and polite manners, submissive only when he wants to be.”

“Irene…” Her voice was soft, understanding and Irene couldn’t bear it. 

“He sent me flowers. My favorite kind.”

“Tell me.”

Irene took another drink of tea and calmed her nerves, organizing her thoughts.

“It was only sex. It was only supposed to be sex. Mutual stress reliever when we needed it. Dinner became actual dinner and then I was sleeping over. I bought him a bed. Stella, why on Earth did I buy him a bed?”

She couldn’t even look at the woman across from her, could feel the sympathy rolling from her. 

“What happened?” Stella prodded. “To ruin it?”

“Me.”

The answer startled her even as it left her mouth. 

“He-um-” she ran a finger over the lip of her cup. “My past, came back to haunt me.”

She tried to explain, without giving too much of her past. Stella never needed to be embroiled in that darkness, it wasn’t her world. 

“He- helped me. Sacrificed something, made a deal. So I would be safe.”

“Which you hated.” Stella’s tone was smug. "Because you hate anyone  doing anything nice for you. ” Her hand covered Irene’s, and she looked up into those sympathetic green eyes. 

“You hate anyone other than you having the  upper hand .”

The sympathy softened, understanding. 

“Oh. You fell in love with him.”

Irene jerked her hand away. 

“Don’t be stupid.”

“He gave you flowers? “Stella smiled. “ Oh Irene, he fell for you and you,” The look in Irene’s gaze told her not to push too far. “Well, it scared the hell out of you.”

The letter that came with the flowers, the one she had hastily shoved in her bag, still too raw to read, appeared in her mind and the icy veneer that she’d held on to desperately for the past week cracked. 

Stella was out of her seat and around the table, gathering Irene into her arms. 

“It’s okay dearest, we all make the mistake of giving our hearts away some time.”

“I don’t know,”She hated how vulnerable she sounded, wrapped in Stella’s embrace. At one time she would have sneered at such weakness. Now…

“I don’t know what it is, that's all. If  I  feel \-- ”

“It’s okay. You don't have to decide what it is now.”

They remained that way, in a warm comfortable silence. 

“There…” She paused. “There was a letter. With the flowers.”

“Do you want to read it?”

She felt safe here. She could open the letter, read the words Greg had written, safe in Stella’s arms. Protected. While their long term relationship was passed, replaced with a friends with benefits situation, Irene knew she would always be welcome with Stella.

However, the fear was still there, the fear of words yet unsaid and the consequences behind them. 

Words had power. And Irene was not prepared to face that power yet. 

She thought one more about the envelope, hidden and shoved away the thought of it, pushed aside to be ignored until she felt ready to read its words. 

“No.” Irene answered. “No. I'd rather not think about it.”

Stella soothed her, hand stroking hair, lips pressed against the crown of her head. 

“Okay, okay. Just us tonight.  Doing something mundane.”

Irene laughed at the exaggerated word as she pulled away. Hands lifted and caught that dear face, tilting it down to  peck  her lips. Soft, gentle, utterly unlike her. 

“Mundane sounds nice tonight.”

Until she had time to unpack and understand her own actions,  mundane  sounded safe. 

For the first time in a long time, Irene wanted to feel safe.


End file.
